Wandering Son
by sarahandmarquis
Summary: Erik and Giovanni reunite. A "Father's Day" fanfic. Short story. Kay/Leroux based. COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

So, this short story has been in the making for some time now. I've worked off and on on it for several months and considered different plot lines and so on. I really just wanted to write a fanfiction story only about Giovanni and Erik and their relationship.

I probably shouldn't call this a Father's Day fanfic but, I'm going to because it was Father's Day and thinking about my own father that got me back into this story. So, allow me to present you with, Wandering Son, the story of how Giovanni and Erik patched up their relationship.

Don't expect any romance. There is a possible love interest and I do hint a little here and there but you're left to imagine what happens to them. This is about a father and son.

sarahandmarquis

.

.

Chapter 1

.

.

 _Giovanni_

.

I am an old man now. Quite old. My eighty years are ancient for those of my craft. Rarely do masons live past sixty once the dust settles in their lungs and clogs them up. My chest does rattle like a box of tools but I am still surprisingly strong. Perhaps it is because I stopped younger than most and simply designed instead of working the stone.

So, here I sit, on the balcony of my house, the balcony I never fixed, ancient and alone, lost in the memories of so many years previous. My eyes and my mind are perfectly healthy and I cannot forget a single moment of that terrible night.

The night I should have done so many things differently.

The night I lost my only son and my most treasured daughter.

I shudder for a moment and a tear slips down my weathered cheek as I remember the gangly boy, the little deformed genius I know I shall not see again this side of death. After our bad parting, he will not return and for all my seeking, I have failed to find him. So, I sit. And I think. And I dream of what might have happened had I been a better father to that lonely boy.

He was a peculiar lad, masked and quiet, nervous and scared of me at first. I knew he was a thief and probably worse. I tried not to think of my young apprentice as a murderer though I had seen the mark of the devil upon his forehead. Once he had even told me, _I lied you to you when I said I was not apprenticed. I am already sworn to a master._

His own words confirmed it but I had let it slide. I had decided to ignore it, to let him live with me and hope and pray that he might become more.

Of course, I had ruined it all.

A rumor had been started some days after his first arrival on the building sights that he was my "wood's colt" and that was the reason I sheltered him. To this day, I know Erik is no blood son of mine. While in my younger years I might have been a little wild, I had reformed long before his birth. No, Erik isn't my son by birth but he is and always will be my son by heart.

I loved and do still love that boy as much as any child I ever fathered with my wife.

As I sit and contemplate my sins, my heart turns to Luciana, my favorite daughter whose death I was solely to blame. While my son is out in the world at this moment, no doubt blaming himself for her broken body, I do not lay any blame at his feet. He was innocent of her blood.

More tears trickle down my cheeks as I hear the nurse my eldest daughter hired to care for me approach. I do not need her constant attention but I am grateful at times for her company. She is a sweet thing, quiet and unassuming. Her name is Christabella and I love her like a daughter as well. Perhaps she is Luciana's replacement in my heart. I cannot be sure.

"Signor Giovanni, I have fixed you some supper. It is getting late and cold. Why don't you come inside to the fire?" I look up to her pretty face and smile softly at her sweet face before holding out my hand which she takes and helps me to my feet.

"Thank you, Christabella."

"You're welcome, Signor." She replies in her lovely way as I drape an arm around her shoulders for support. For such a small girl, she is quite strong.

"You are dressed up this evening. Planning an outing?" I inquired, noting the prettier dress and the hints of makeup on her cheeks.

"Yes, back to the traveling fair I went to yesterday evening. I would have told you about it today but Angela visited." She responds, giving me a kindly smile, holding my arm tightly to help me into the dining room.

"Then tell me about it." I encourage her as she helps me into my chair at the table and sets my plate before me.

"He made flowers sing! And, things disappear. And, he even cut a woman in half but she was unharmed! He played the violin so beautifully! It was like listening to an angel from heaven." The nurse fusses around me as she talks, making sure I need nothing else before fetching herself her own plate.

"Singing flowers, you say? That certainly Is unusual."

"Oh! Unusual and beautiful!" The girl exclaims, obviously remembering the show with great fondness. "I was honored to be able to speak with him right after the show and he is such an odd man. He wore a mask and dressed in black for the whole duration but the mask didn't leave once most have filed out. He was quite handsome. Tall with black hair." A blush stains her pretty cheeks and I chuckle at her modesty.

"You found him pleasant to the eye, I see." I brush away her comment about his attire and instead take delight in some simple teasing.

"Yes, I did. But, I have no need for handsome men in my life right now." After finishing her meal, she leans forward and kisses my cheek. "I have you to care for, Signor." With a short curtsy, she steps back. "I have a few tasks to complete. I shall return soon to fetch the dishes." With a light step, she dances away, a few strands of her black hair dancing over her shoulders.

I smile a little to myself before picking up my spoon and taking a sip of the delicious broth she had prepared. The girl is quite a cook. One day, she will make a young man very happy. I eat the broth and the bread slowly, savoring the taste while I lapse back into memories. There were nice days between Erik and myself. We would sit by the fire at night and talk or listen to the fire crackle and pop. He would finish with the books and then cautiously sit in an arm chair near mine.

I drop the spoon as my hands shake so I can't hold it any more. shaking my head, I pull myself to my feet and begin to walk towards my bedroom to lie down. I am old and with it comes exhaustion from having lived longer than one's average allotted seventy-five years.

.

.

 _Erik_

.

The final round is given and my audience begins to file out of the black tent. I pay little mind to any of them, merely turning around to put away my props. My lilies will need watering soon and a possible thinning. Maybe I can find a young maid who shan't mind some flowers appearing in her yard.

As I put away my violin, I hear a soft clearing of the throat and turn to see the girl from the evening before, standing with her hands folded neatly on her skirts. Her brown eyes look up at me with admiration and a pretty little smile teases her mouth. I arch an eyebrow beneath my white mask and look away from her. She will address me if she wishes to speak.

"Signor Magician, last evening I promised you I would bring my patient with me." I nod without a glance her way. I hear her shift slightly; no doubt my ignoring is unsettling her. "I am sorry but he wasn't feeling well today. How long will you be in the area?" At this, I peer around the edges of my mask at her wide eyes.

"One week from this evening." I reply shortly before packing away the other odd objects I keep around for my shows. I used to, in my youth, show my face as a part of the attraction but I long since ceased that habit. I am tired of prostituting my body was well as my talents to people who know nothing for money that would only buy comforts for my loathsome carcass.

"Thank you, Signor Magician." She curtsies to me before turning around to leave, her step hesitant. In certain ways she reminds me of a child, her eyes innocent and face childlike. Yet, there is no doubting she is a woman in form and courage. Who else would find it in themselves to address a masked freak of nature?

"Signor," she pauses and turns around to face me. "How do you make the lilies sing?" I vacillate for a short moment whether or not to tell my secret, but, then I decide she likely curious and wants nothing more.

"Come here." I call to her and set the pot of lilies on a small stool before kneeling beside them. The girl copies me, her eagerness to learn visible in every motion as she focuses on me and the lilies simultaneously. I am silent for a moment before speaking again,

"I am a ventriloquist. I project my voice." Moments later, the lilies appear as if they were singing an old Italian ballad I had learned during my last visit to the country. The girl touches the flowers with such reverence and I purposefully cause my voice to falter when her finger caresses the pedals. She jumps back and giggles a little before looking up at me and beginning to hum along with the tune.

Her voice is pretty yet untrained. I believe without realizing it, she begins to sing softly along with the tune, her tongue curling around the Italian words without faltering and her lungs providing solid support to her voice. When the tune finally fades from the lilies, she glances up at me, her tan cheeks stained with a bright blush.

"I'm sorry! That's always been one of my favorite songs." She stands to her feet and brushes the dust off of her gold skirt. I don't respond. I simply nod my head and rise to my feet as well, taking the lilies with me. The girl again moves to leave but hesitates. I don't understand so I ignore.

.

.

 _Giovanni_

.

"Was it a nice show?" I ask Christabella as she sits in her chair by the fireplace. Her brown eyes look up at me as she smiles.

"Yes, it was. I spoke to the magician again. He told me how he makes the flowers sing. Ventriloquism." The girl's wistful gaze gives me insight into where her mind is going. Whatever this tricks magician has in his repertoire, one is the attracting of young women.

"I am sorry that I was unable to go this evening but my bones were not agreeable to an outing even to see your magician." The girl blushes slightly, ducking her eyes from my face, and sets her crocheting down her lap.

"He's not mine. He leaves tomorrow week and I probably won't see him again. But, he fascinates me. Something about those sulfur eyes and white mask." She laughs a little and stands up. "I must wash the dishes. Please call for me when you are ready to rest." With a brush of her lips against my forehead, she breezes from the room and I am left to the thoughts.

The arrival of a circus wasn't so unusual in Rome. And, it is perfectly normal for there to be in the company a magician. Some old man or some odd person who will draw in crowds of the bold and curious.

Yet, for him to be masked with yellow eyes is certainly unique. Tomorrow I will make it to the show.

.

.

 **ALERT TO ALL FANS WANTING AU FANFIC IDEAS**

I just wanted to add this in here because I know that to find the best fanfiction writers you come here. And, the writers on here have produced some of the finest AU fanfictions that I've ever read. Now, I pride myself on being good at weird ideas (not so good at writing them though) and, I don't have near enough time to turn all the stories into the books.

So, I have changed my tumblr account into a writing prompt account. Search for "sarahlet2999" on Tumblr and you will find a completely black and red account titled "Phantom-is-life" and you can see all my Phantom of the Opera and Labyrinth prompts! I want to share my ideas with the world and, I trust the writers of FF will be able to do them justice.


	2. Chapter 2

.

.

 _Giovanni_

.

Tonight I am too tired to make the journey to the show.

"Christabella, inquire of the magician if he will dine with us this evening."

"As you wish, Signor."

"And, Christabella, be careful." The pretty Italian smiles before kissing my cheek.

"Signor Giovanni, I am always careful." She smiles again before breezing away into the darkness, turning down the small pathway towards the lights of the circus. I watch her from a window until she and her lantern disappear into the darkness. With a soft sigh, I turn back to my chair and sit down, open the paper and begin to read.

It will be at least two hours before she returns with the magician.

.

.

 _Erik_

.

"Signorina, you wish for me to accompany you home for dinner with you and your patient." I ask the girl before me who responds with a sweet smile before taking a small step towards my gangly frame.

"Yes. I was requested particularly to bring you to dinner tonight. Unless, you have another engagement?" Her eyes widen slightly as if she is concerned about interrupting anything. She is truly the sweetest girl I have met in my travels. Sweet and unassuming yet with courage to boldly address me.

She imagines I have other plans with another human! She must be naive as well to imagine such a thing!

"I am free tonight." I marvel at my own choice of words. I declare I am free yet I am the most bound man in Italy. It is almost comical!

"Wonderful!" Her eyes appear to light up though that alone confuses me. Typically, people do not seek me out and invite me to their homes. If I was still a child in my teens, I might have feared what this pretty maid and her patient had in mind for me but, now, as a grown man I fear very little.

It would be nice to taste another's cooking.

.

.

 _Erik_

.

As the girl and I approach the house, my heart rate increases and my hands turn clammy.

It was the house.

My old master's house.

The girl notices nothing odd about my behavior so I convince myself, as I did before I considered entering Italy and going near Rome, that Giovanni is likely dead by now. No mason lives to the age he must be to still be living here.

No, Giovanni is dead and this new owner won't know me. I shall not have to face the anger and hatred from the only man who was a parent to me.

We walk through the small gate, her heels and my boots ringing on the paving stones as we approach the wooden door. My hands still sweating, I begin to wonder if I should have simply excused myself politely or abandoned the girl on the road. Dread washes over me as she unlocks the door and gestures for me to follow in after her.

Nothing has changed.

The furniture and decorations remain as they always have. Even the scents washing over me are the same. Memories long locked away rush through my head.

Giovanni bringing to his house for the first time and my undisguised terror. My fear he would harm me.

Our lovely evenings by the fire when I had finally gained enough courage to seek him out.

The night I ruined his life.

She slips off her long coat and hangs it on a hook before turning and accepting my hat and cloak from me, placing the object next to her coat.

"If you will excuse me for a moment, I shall find Signor to tell him out guest has arrived." I fidget with the edges of my suit hem, uncomfortable to the extreme in this place. She disappears for a few moments, returning after announcing me to the owner.

"He is in the drawing room. I will fix some supper and fetch the both of you when it's done." She gives me a nice smile and leaves towards the kitchen.

I gather my courage and step into the drawing room, clearing my throat to alert the occupant to my presence.

An elderly gentleman rises from his seat and turns to face me, speaking as he does,

"Good evening, Signor Magician. It is a pleasure…" His next words die before they leave his mouth as he sees me.

"Moi Dio…Erik."

All my fears have come true. Every panicked thought that passed through my racing mind has occurred as I find myself once more standing in the drawing room where, thirty years previously, I was a welcomed inhabitant. Now, I feel I am no more than an intruder, unwanted and despised.

"Forgive me, Sir." I gasp as I see my old master's face looking back into mine, disbelief written in every wrinkle of his old face. "I shouldn't be here." I whisper before bolting for the door I just entered moments before. I can't face him! I can't bear to hear the words from his mouth that I had flogged myself with for these three decades.

"Erik! Wait!" I freeze just outside the drawing room. Not because of what he said, such words could be used even in anger. But, because of how he said them. Where is the fury? Where is the hatred? Where is…dare I say…the disgust? They are what he should feel towards the murderer of his favorite daughter. Yet, his words are filled with desperation, kindness.

I feel tears welling to the surface in my eyes.

"Please, Sir, let me go." I whisper, feeling more like the young lad I was when I left than ever before. I am scared. I want nothing more than to run. I don't belong here anymore. I lost that. I shouldn't have come at all the moment I saw the house.

"Erik?" His voice is softer as I hear him rising and approaching me. I could run in a moment but I feel rooted to floor. Giovanni walks around me and stands before me and, despite my being taller than him, I feel small before the man who might have been my father had I been boy instead of a freak.

Slowly, almost as if not to scare me, he reaches up and touches my mask's cheeks. I close my eyes and hang my head before him, ashamed.

"You're not an illusion. You came back to me, son." Tears are running unheeded down his cheeks and I pull away. I don't know what to say or do. Where is everything I expected?! Why do I still receive the title 'son'! I don't deserve it. I ruined all chances of that. I ruined everything about his life but he still pretends to be happy to see me.

"Please, sir, don't pretend." I say I pull away from him. Such falseness is worse than the painful truth. "I will leave. You need never think of me again." I try to reassure him before side-stepping him in an attempt to reach the door.

"Erik, you'll do no such thing." He says firmly, laying his hand on my shoulder as my back faces him. I stop and my head and shoulders droop.

"Isn't that what you want? I wrecked your happiness! She meant everything to you and I took her away." Perhaps a reminder of what happened will refresh his obviously senile brain. Perhaps now he will understand he hates me.

All I hear behind me is a sigh and a few soft words,

"Come back with me to the drawing room. We have much to talk about." I vacillate between following him and running for my worth back to my dark tent. I decide to follow him with the concession that no matter what was spoken between us, I would be gone before morning.

He would never have to face this nightmare again.

I follow him, hanging my head, unable to look into his eyes. He retakes his seat by the fire and gestures for me to sit opposite him. I, again, hesitate before accepting his offer and sitting on the edge of the chair. My gloved hands twist together as I wait to hear what he has to say.

"Erik, you believe you murdered her, don't you?" I nod once.

"Is that why you fled?" I nod once more. I hear a sigh from my former master and I feel the horrible sting of tears wetting my eyes.

"I killed her. I proved what I was, what I'm sure you believed I was when you first met me. Didn't you know I was more than a thief?" I look up at him. "You knew I was Death's apprentice! You told me as much when you offered me your apprenticeship. I should have done the right thing and refused. Nothing good comes of breaking an indenture." I am no longer apprenticed to that harsh master. No, I have become that master. Giovanni could never understand the burden I carry. I am no long the poor urchin he picked up off the streets.

I am the Angel of Doom.

The taker of a multitude of lives.

"I knew you had likely killed before you and I met. I am also not under the delusion you haven't killed since our parting."

"Then why don't you let me leave? Surely you want me gone?" I rise to my feet.

"Do you really want to leave so badly?" Giovanni questions. I pause for a long moment before glancing towards the fire flickering in the fireplace.

"I don't belong here anymore. I don't deserve this anymore." I remember how wonderful that year was that I spent with him. He became the father I had always wanted. The father I had needed. I had deceived myself into believing I belonged in the lovely Roman house. That I belonged with the Roman mason.

"Why do you say that?" He asks as he stands up and lays his hands on my shoulders. I look at him in disbelief.

"I told you! Are you so old you forget? Erik killed her!" I pulled away from him and begin to walk to the door, my heart sinking and shattering. I will leave and never come back to this place. As I cross the threshold of the drawing room, I hear his voice speak once last time,

"I killed her."

.

.

 _Giovanni_

.

I stand there before the fire, verbally acknowledging what I did for my misguided son to hear. He stops. I turn to face him, a few long tears streaking down my cheeks.

"I killed her and in doing so lost so much more than my favorite daughter. I lost my only son as well." At this, I sense Erik breaking emotionally. His eyes fill with tears and his jaw and mouth give away the expression beneath his mask. A couple swift steps bring him back to me, only to have him fall at my feet, rocking and sobbing.

I think nothing of my old bones and slowly kneel in front of my sobbing boy. He will help me up when I need it. Gently, I pull him into my arms, laying his head on my shoulder, no longer seeing the man who walked into the drawing room but seeing the boy who never healed.

Erik cries until he can cry no more. I say everything that I have kept back for thirty years. I call him my son, declare how much I love him and repeat over and over again how I never hated him for my own error. After a long while, he goes limp against me, exhausted from the emotions running rampant through him.

"Come now, son. I think you need some rest." He looks up at me, his golden eyes bloodshot.

"Of course. May I come back?" He asks and I look at him curiously.

"Come back?" I echo, demanding an explanation.

"Yes. May I come back tomorrow?" It is then I realize what he means. He believes I am asking him to return to his home in the circus.

"No." I say and watch the hopefulness drain from his eyes. Quickly, I amend my statement. "No, because you're not leaving. You may stay here. Your room is still as it always was. I never had the heart to dismantle it. I have even kept it clean." Erik stares at me, unable to comprehend.

"Didn't I forfeit all of that? Don't I have to do something to pay? What do I have to do to earn it back?" I decide it is not worthwhile to discuss such a matter on the cold floor.

"Help me up, Erik, and I shall explain." Erik says not a word, merely rises and grasps my forearms, pulling me to my feet. I stand in front of him and lay my hands on his shoulders. As I look into his eyes, I smile softly. The young boy I remember from thirty years ago is there, begging his father to show him. He is lost and wants nothing more than someone to hold him and tell him everything will be all right.

"Erik, you didn't earn any of the things I gave you. They were gifts. I haven't retracted my gifts. As for paying, you have nothing to pay for. I forgive you. You're still my son despite everything." Erik nods, I believe more out the inability to fight anymore. He is too tired to argue.

"Yes, sir." He says as he looks at me. I begin to address the subject of 'sir' but change my mind. Tonight is not the time to discuss his past or that title. There will be time later.

"Come, let me take you to your room." Erik nods again and I show him down to the cellars once more where his bed and room are. I give him a final hug and pat on the back before leaving him to himself. But, I cannot feel confident that he will be there when I wake in the morning.


	3. Chapter 3

.

.

 _Giovanni_

.

As soon as the sun is up, I am in the cellars at his bedroom door. I know my son, he is the master of stealth. It is very possible he slipped away before the sun rose and is gone forever. After several knocks on his door with no response, I am sure. Testing the handle, I find it unlocked and step inside, seeing a completely empty room.

He is gone. I should have known. I should have known he wouldn't stay. Twenty years of pain and belief in a lie don't change overnight. I have so few years left and he multiples of that. It will be another score before he even considers returning to Italy, if ever.

My shoulders droop and the wrinkles in my face cut deeper as I slowly walk back to the drawing and settle into my chair. I was so close! He came back! I held my son in my arms like I had before! But, he is gone. Gone!

"Signor, I'm going into town to shop. I should be back mid-afternoon." Christabella says from her place in the doorway. "There are sandwiches on the kitchen table for your and the magician's lunch."

"He's gone." I whisper.

"Gone? Why? What happened?" Her voice is filled with sympathy for me as she flies to my side.

"It is the way he is. I wondered if he would be gone by morning. Remember the boy involved with Luciana's death?" She nods, no doubt remembering the many versions of the story told by those who weren't presence. "Your magician is that boy. He is like a son to me and I've lost him again."

"I'm so sorry, Signor." She pats my hand and gives me a gentle hug. "I would have tried to stop him. I saw him slipping away. Towards the traveling fair. Perhaps he's going to get his things?"

I shake my head.

"I don't think so. He's gone again."

.

.

 _Erik_

.

"Where you been? You disappeared last night without a word. We thought we'd have to leave without you." The ring leader of the traveling fair leans against one of the poles of my tent while he speaks.

"I'm here now." I mutter, gathering my things into packs for ease of carrying. "A costumer wanted me to visit for supper."

"And you stayed out all night?" He laughs. "A pretty girl and you didn't come back? Was she any good?" He means no harm but the comment infuriates me.

"Get out, Lee. Get out." My voice is cold, unfeeling and deadly. If he knows what's good for him, he won't speak against that child or that house again.

"Must have been, you're acting like a horse with a burr under his saddle. More than just a one night bout of loving? She get under your skin?" He dares to laugh again and I hit him so hard he lands solidly on his back several feet outside of the tent, clutching a bloody nose and unable to focus his eyes on anything.

I look at him for a long moment before grabbing my violin, case weighted heavily with jewels pilfered from Persia, and my money purse, filled with last night's earnings. The only reason neither of these things disappeared overnight is because these people fear me. They know they'd live to regret their thievery.

"I'm leaving." I snap at his still prostrate form. His eyes roll in his head and blood gushes from his shattered nose. "Don't come looking for me."

My horse waits outside the tent, his ears pointed towards the man writhing in pain on the ground at his heels. The mare studies me, confused at my actions but I brush aside her peering eyes and grab a handful of mane, easily sitting astride her bare, broad back.

I question my sanity as I turn the piebald back towards the city, back towards the house I should run from, as far and as fast as I can. I don't understand what he's doing but, he has been so kind… he told me he that he wanted me to stay…

It will be so nice to be wanted, just for a little while…if only for a little while.

.

.

 _Giovanni_

.

It hurts too much to weep. A healing wound cut always hurts more than a new one. It is one thing to lose a son and have reason but it is another for him to leave when his father has expressed the desire for him to stay.

It is mid-morning. I haven't left my chair, my age catching up with me. I hear steady hoofbeats outside the window but I pay little attention to them. If it is a messenger, he will leave the package or note or I shall call him to enter and deliver it personally.

The horse stops outside the door. I hear the slight paw of gravel followed by a hushed voice, soothing the beast. I listen, there are no other sounds for me to listen to.

A hesitant rapping sounds on the door, made by a shy hand. I call out,

"Come in!" The door creaks open and I make no move to rise. It isn't safe for me to do so anymore. My legs aren't what they were.

"Who is it?" I ask, turning my head towards the person but unable to see them around the back of my chair. There isn't a noise safe for heavy footsteps as a shadowed figured enters my line of sight. His head is down, he keeps away from me, all his body language that of a whipped dog.

"Erik." I smile, unable to contain the relief when I see my son hasn't left for good. "You came back!"

He nods, his fingers curling and uncurling around the handle of a violin case.

"Yes, I came back. Am I still welcome?" He inquires, finally daring to look me in the eyes.

"Always. I thought you had gone forever." I gesture for him to sit and he does, carefully setting down the violin case which makes a surprisingly heavy thump when it lands on the stone floor.

"I…very nearly had. I changed my mind." I was so close to losing him! He nearly slipped away but, he stopped himself. Something I said last night must have worked its way into his thick skull.

"I'm so glad you did. Is this all you have? I was told the traveling fair was leaving today. Do you have more things you need?" He shakes his head and pats a hidden pocket.

"I have my gold and my violin. My horse stands outside. I need nothing else."

"Your horse needs to be stabled. Surely you mean to stay for a while?" I hope to encourage him. Suddenly, a thought strikes me. Perhaps he has a family somewhere else. A family who needs him. Maybe a wife…maybe children! "Unless there are people in need of you elsewhere?"

He shakes his head.

"There is no one. No one at all. I…would like to stay a while. If you permit me. I wouldn't want to encroach on your hospitality."

"You're my son. You're always welcome to stay whenever and however long you want." He hangs his head and doesn't reply. I sense a certain reluctance in his behavior. He's scared of me.

"I'm sorry I broke our trust. You trusted me and I ruined that. I'm sorry." He makes no visible reaction but I'll keep talking. Maybe he'll listen to me. "I never had a son, only four daughters. You know, when you appeared, most of workmen though you were mine. A child from the wrong side of the blanket. I let those rumors live. I hoped they would help you, maybe give you a leg up in the world where you struggled.

"I wanted you to have the living that my son should have had. None of my daughters married masons. I still want you to have it if you're willing. It'll be a good living, you could take it and travel if –" He interrupts me with a cry of despair.

"Please stop talking!" His hands clutch the sides of his head and takes several moments to control himself. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have shouted. Forgive me." His hands are shaking and sweating at the same time.

"Are you all right?" I ask, leaning out of my chair to touch his skin, clammy and cold. "Erik, is something wrong?"

"No, no." He pulls his head up and turns to face me, eyes bright and damp. "No, I'm fine. Healthy. Forgive me, sir, you were speaking."

"If you need to lie down… Are you hungry? Christabella made enough sandwiches for both of us for lunch. Help me up and we'll go to the kitchen. You missed supper last night. You must be starved." I move to rise but he shakes his head.

"I'm not hungry. I'm sorry, sir."

"Erik, are you sick?"

"No…" He trails off and glances at my face before correcting himself, "…yes. But, it's nothing that can be fixed."

"What are you sick with?" I fear the worst; that he came home to die. I always assumed I'd be the first to go, the first to be planted six feet under. But it may be my son? Must I bury two children before I am put out of my misery?

He doesn't speak, embarrassed, while I look at him carefully. Sweating, bright eyes signifying a fever, headaches, disorientation –

"You're in withdrawal, aren't you?" He doesn't react, ashamed I figured it out. I should have known. I should have known he wouldn't come back without baggage and possibly addictions. "What is the drug?" I ask, leaning towards him, extending a kind tone to him in hopes of soothing his shame.

"Morphine." At least it is a milder drug. Still dangerous and withdrawal will be terrible but we can pull him through it.

"How long?"

"Ten years. I've been trying to quit! I just need…" He stood up, swaying on his feet but intent on the door. I'm slow in my old age but he is weakened and very sick so I easily catch up with him and block his way.

"You're not leaving. You're too sick."

"I have to. I have to buy…" He trails off and sways again on his feet, his hand coming up to cover the mouth of his mask.

"No, no more." I insist, grabbing his arm to steady him. "No more drugs. Christabella and I will help you through. But, to bed with you right now." He tries to argue but again his body shakes, signaling he is close to vomiting.

Without another word, I shepherd him to his room and hand him a washbasin. I turn my back to him to allow him a moment of privacy and he takes it because seconds later, I hear violent retching. I give him enough time for the heaves to fade away, and get him a glass of water to wash out his mouth.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over in pain. "It hurts. I need to refill my stash." He moves to stand up and I shake my head.

"No, no. Lay down."

"But-"

"Erik, you're sick. You said you've been trying to quit?" He nods. "Then we will help you."

"I don't want…I don't want you to see…It will be bad." His feverous eyes, a sickly brilliant gold, roll my direction.

"What else is family for?" I touch his shoulder and give him a kindly smile. His eyes flutter closed as a violent shiver wracks his body.

This will be one of the longest weeks of our lives.

.

.

 _Erik_

.

I am feeling better. It's been a week since I lapsed into withdrawal and became so sick, I couldn't remember where I was. I spent most of the week lost in a hazy of disorientation, horribly paired with sleeplessness.

There truly is no rest for the wicked.

Giovanni rarely left me and, aided by his maid, cared for me, keeping me hydrated despite my regular attacks of nausea and attempting to feed me even though I couldn't keep anything down. His maid is a sweet girl, pleasant and kind, quiet enough to discrete. She ran for the doctor whenever my symptoms became too violent and worried my watchers too much.

I have never been so embarrassed in my life.

I am weak; I can barely hold my head up let alone care for myself. I shouldn't have come back. I should have gone away and suffered on my own, sparing them the pain and disgust monitoring a deformed invalid.

Christabella is sitting with me now, reading a book to herself, allowing me the quiet she thinks I need for sleep. I watch her instead through slit eyes hiding behind the mask. I don't believe they have removed it while I slept or tossed in my fits. I choose to ignore it the nagging thought that they may have. It is one thing I cannot think of.

She looks up at me, studying my eyeholes and seeing nothing, assuming I sleep on. Quietly setting aside her book, she rises, steps to my side and lays her hand against my forehead. I snap my eyes close and try to ignore the light pressure of a slender hand resting just above where my mask ends.

The door opens and I listen to the shaking but firm tread of Giovanni who stands on the other side of the bed. They both think I sleep on.

"Is there a fever?" He asks.

"No," she replies. "It is broken. He will pull through as long as he eats and keeps up his strength. I worry though the cravings may become too much. He'll need you for a long time."

"What else is a father for? Thank you, mia cara. I'll watch him for a while. You need some sleep. I see bags under your eyes."

"Thank you." I hear her move away. "I am tired. I'll sleep for the afternoon and fix supper when I get up. If you need anything, please wake me." I feel her leave the room and the light flower scent leaves with her. The chair scrapes on the floor and creaks as Giovanni sits. His eyes rest on me and I cannot help cracking mine to gauge his expression.

I've only ever sought to make him proud of me.

"I know you're awake, Erik. No use faking. How are you feeling?" I open my eyes fully and groan.

"Tired and weak. It's almost as bad as…" I trail off, my analogy dying the moment I completely processed my words.

"As bad as…?" He inquires. I know he wishes to know about my past but, there are so many things I wish to keep away from him. Perhaps he would be proud to know I built a palace for the Shah of Persia but he would be ashamed to know a torture chamber came from his skilled teaching. "You can tell me. What happened?"

I resist but I must give him a reason.

"I do not wish to tell you now. Later, perhaps." I must be strong enough to leave before I tell him. Strong enough to walk and get my horse and ride away. I do not want him to keep me because of pity even though he is secretly horrified at the monster I always was and still am.

"Make sure later isn't after I am under the earth, okay?" He attempts to make a joke but it falls flat. This panics me.

"Are you well, sir? Is there something wrong?" I jerk my head towards him, lifting slightly from the bed, surprised at the toll the exertion takes. He chuckles and shakes his head.

"No, I am well. As well as a man who has lived long past his years can be. I'm old, Erik. If you had waited a mere…two or three years, you would have found a completely different owner in charge of this house. But, now, I have something to live for. You've come home." He smiles, his old face crinkling. He has more wrinkles then I remembered but fifteen years will change a person.

"As soon as I am able, I will find another place to stay, nearby if you wish. These last years need to be good. Not tainted." He should feel at peace in his own home during the end of his life. He shouldn't have _me_ ruining that tranquility.

"You will do no such thing! Unless you crave that independence. I want you close. It's been so long since we parted. I thought I'd never see you again but, now that I have that chance, I want you to promise me to never leave until you've spoken with me. I don't want a repeat of our mistakes with...Lunciana." I notice he hesitates to mention her name. I've stolen even that joy from him.

"It isn't your fault. It's mine. If only…if only…" I cannot bring myself to speak of my face. I'm surprised he is willing to care for me. He should be like everyone else, terrified.

"No, Erik, it's mine. You just followed orders. There is no crime in that. Believe me, I never blamed you. I've always been proud of you." His eyes are kind and I can almost believe him.

"You wouldn't if you knew." I reply, remembering the horrors of Persia and pushing the screams of the dying from my brain though I know they will return in any quiet moment. The morphine is gone and with it, the only way I kept them away.

"You don't know that."

"I do. You don't know what I've done, who has suffered."

"Then, tell me."

"Not now. Not now."

"Is there anything you can tell me?" I search my mind for something he would be proud of, something in my life that I could own with a touch of pride.

"I built the royal palace in Persia. I was the Shah's architect." Surely, he can be proud of that?

.

.

 _Giovanni_

.

"A royal palace?" I cannot properly express how proud I am of my son. He built a palace for a monarch! Such an honor is only extended to the geniuses of the masons. "I am proud of you. I knew you had a great talent. My brilliant boy! Tell me about it."

He looks away from me, embarrassed at my attention, before launching into a detailed listing of the building materials, workers, blueprints, and trials involving his masterpiece. Like a true builder, I created an exact copy in my mind's eyes and it was beautiful.

At least there was something beautiful in his past.


	4. Chapter 4

.

.

 _Erik_

.

I am nearly completely well. It has been two weeks since I moved in with Giovanni. After recovering, I help his maid around the house. The mansion is still beautiful but the stonework has never been repaired in the years since I had left.

I am ashamed to say it keeps me out of the house and away from him. I only remember pieces of that first night and morning when I decided to stay but, in those scant memories, I recall his mentioning a desire of passing on his business to me.

I shouldn't avoid the conversation, I really shouldn't. I shouldn't avoid him like I am. He wants the son he lost and I am not that boy anymore. I broke his heart once, I don't wish to break it again to tell that his son died with Lunciana when her brains splattered across the paving stones.

I stand on the balcony where it all ended when I hear movement behind me. I turn, looking over my shoulder just enough to see Giovanni standing in the doorway.

"Erik, where have you been hiding this past week? I've barely seen you." He moves to stand beside me, falling into my somber mood while we stare at the still ruined brickwork.

"I've been working on the house. It needs some…repairs."

"Nonsense, that's just an excuse. Sit." He finds a seat and points at one for me to occupy. I take it if only not to argue with him. "Now, Erik, tell me, what are you thinking? Surely you don't plan to leave?" I cannot miss the hints of panic and worry in his voice which he doesn't even try to hide.

"No," I reply, "I am not thinking of leaving." I want to stay. I want the life I had back. those two years were the happiest of my life, those two years here in a…dare I say… _family_?

"Good. Every time I've seen you, you've looked very preoccupied and you've been avoiding me, haven't you?" He leans forward, his eyes attempting to offer comfort I refuse by looking away.

"Yes, sir, I have." There is no point to lying to him.

"Why?" I hesitate again but pick the truthful path.

"Sir, when I was ill, you spoke of being proud of my achievements as the master architect of the Shah's palace but I left out everything else that happened there and while I traveled through Europe. If I were to tell you, you would throw me out in a moment." I hang my head and stare at the brickwork beneath my feet. I am well enough to leave if he desires to through me out.

I want to be accepted. He is the closest thing to a father I ever had, not that I would admit it to him. Such admissions leave the admitter open to danger.

"Test me, son. When you came to live with me, I knew you brought with you many terrible things, those which you had done or had been done to you. I do no pretend to think they have stopped. I only wish I could have been there to shelter you."

I nearly crack, nearly cry before him but I hold myself together to keep my dignity.

"Let us go inside." I stand up, desperate to get away from the memories on the balcony. This is another unmasking, of a more painful kind.

"No, let us stay here. The air is fresh and the sun is going down and makes the stone look fine. You needn't worry, my son, that I will fall." His words momentarily send me into a nightmare of seeing him falling to his death where his daughter fell. I fear not that he will fall, but that he will jump.

"As you wish." I reply, returning to my seat and stare at my hands for a moment. "Where shall I begin?" I ask.

"Wherever you wish."

.

.

 _Giovanni_

.

"When…when she fell, I ran. I ran as far and as fast as I could. It wasn't long before I had attached myself to a traveling circus troop. This time, on my own terms. Soon, we parted ways and I started on my own, preforming all over continent at my whim. I had power over those who came to see me, beautiful power."

His voice takes on an almost wistful lilt, indeed, it seems to be quite the accomplishment for him. I wish this was the story he had to tell, perhaps smattered with some dirty dealings he had had to preform but nothing like what he hinted at.

"Twenty years ago, give or take, I traveled through Russia, stopping Nijni-Novgorod for a performance. A few days before the ending of the fair, a Persian man entered my tent after a performance. He said the shah-in-shah desired my presence in Persia and had sent him to find me." Here he swallows, his eyes drifting away from his hands and to the setting sun glowing on our faces.

"He offered me power, sir. He offered me power. My word would be law. How could I resist?" I hear tears in his voice, a broken sound that touched my heart. Before I could reach out to comfort him, he gathers himself and continues.

"I went with him to Persia, and stayed with him until the Shah requested me. He had a little son, Reza. He was dying but seemed to adore me. I made him this little doll that would play music whenever he clapped." That memory pleases him but the hesitation warns me of worse things to come.

"The Shah wanted a palace, and if I succeeded with the palace, I could rebuild Tehran. I wanted to make you proud, sir. You had taught me everything I knew and I didn't want to waste your time and her life." Once more, his eyes revert to his hands. I remain silent, keeping my words of pride to myself until such a time as I should bestow them. Even if he had never used my teachings, I would have remained proud of him for his eagerness to learn, for his kindness, for his loving obedience.

"The Shah's mother found me interesting. My deformity _aroused_ her." He spits out the word with disgust. "She wanted blood, she wanted torture."

He turns his head to face me, golden eyes haunted with a world of pain.

"I killed for her."

.

.

 _Erik_

.

The shock in his eyes, the look of horror, mirroring that from the moment I revealed my face, nearly is too much for me. I fling myself at his feet, on my knees, face in my hands, sobbing for forgiveness. My tears soak my mask and the salt burns my sensitive skin but I ignore it.

I hear him rise. I expect that he is leaving. His words of kindness and acceptance, the many times he's said how much he wanted me to stay; all null and void.

I am shocked when I feel old but strong arms pulling me into a fatherly embrace. His gnarled fingers lay themselves against the back of my head and hold me close, not letting me escape. Normally, I would be terrified of being trapped but this time is different.

"Why?" I choke out, unable to understand.

"Erik, listen to me. Listen closely." As if I would ever do anything but! "I knew when we first met that you had already spilled human blood. I am not surprised that you have done it since, only in the method. Do you think I hate you because of it?"

"You must." I reply.

"I do not. You're my son, Erik, I love you very much." He releases me and attempts to stand, but he is old and his muscles do not hold him like they should. I bound to my feet and help him up and back to the bench where he pats the spot next to him for me to sit.

I do not know how to respond or what to do. I tell him I was a killer for a queen mother and he calls me his son and tells me he still loves me.

We sit in silence for the longest time before he speaks up,

"Finish the story, if you can." I slowly nod, racking my brain in an attempt to remember where we were in my terrible tale.

"I stayed there for three years. When I knew too much, the Shah wanted to put my eyes out but decided against it, preferring me dead. I got out only because of that Persian who saved my life at the expense of his own. I don't know if he lived or died. They may have killed him for his treachery, did if they ever discovered it.

"He was the closest thing I had to a friend in my life. He feared me but not so much to remove that bond. His son never stopped adoring me, even when I was forced to end his life." His voice cracks and I understand how much he loved this boy in return, how much the child meant to him.

"He was so sick, the last miserable throws of that illness. I didn't want him to hurt! Nadir wouldn't do it, but, I couldn't let him suffer. I tried to make his last months the most beautiful I could! I'm so sorry, sir." I pat his back and look out at the sun, nearly set on the horizon behind the white marble city stained dark orange.

"You did well. You made his life sweet even as he was dying. I cannot blame you for sparing him the agony of death throws. I assume the death was a painless one?"

"Yes, a painless poison. You fall asleep and never wake. He slipped away quietly."

"Then you did your best. You loved him very much to do that."

"He was my only fond memory of that place. I shall never forget him."

"He wouldn't fault you."

He silently nods. I don't know what of my words he believes but all I can do is continually say them until he believes me. I have years to repeat them as much as is required.


	5. Chapter 5

.

.

 _Giovanni_

.

Erik is doing better. He doesn't avoid me as much, but I sense a certain restlessness in his movements as well. He is not one to be cooped inside a house with an invalid and a servant girl. He is in his prime and desires action, something to occupy his hands.

My foreman has just left and I sit in the drawing room, watching the fire and thinking. During all these years of my deteriorating health, I have refused to release the reins of my business. My mind is still sound, only my body fails me.

I had thought to originally allow Erik to take over the business but he left, so I improvised, found an expert foreman but he is considering leaving. I do not want to hire another stranger to run my business.

Footsteps draw my attention and I turn to see Erik approaching and sitting down in a chair near me.

"Is everything well with the site? I saw the foreman leave with a frown on his face." He asks, turning to me, his eyes curious.

"He wishes to leave, to move to another job site with another master mason which is closer to his wife's family. I have no one to replace him. No one under him is capable."

"Perhaps you could run an ad? Or mention it to other masons who might have an apprentice that might be able to take the place of their foreman?" Erik suggests, leaning forward. "Surely there is someone?"

"There is I have considered." I say quietly, studying him for a moment. Would he be offended if I offered him this position? He has been the master mason, ordering his foreman and workers about while building a palace for a shah. Would he be offended with the lower position?

"Who?" I might as well offer it. The least he can do is refuse me.

"I have been considering you. If you would be willing. I'm afraid it isn't the glory you had. When such a time as I'm unable to run the business, you will, of course, take over." He is shaking his head and standing up. if his mask were gone, I am convinced I could see his mouth hanging open.

"Me? Why me? I haven't been back more than a month! You wanted a trusted man in that position. Why me?" I sigh and gesture for him to sit. He does so automatically.

"Because I do trust you. You are a genius, Erik. A master with stone and mortar. You exceed me now, no doubt. The site will be in safe hands." He looks down at his thin appendages, shrouded in black leather.

"I cannot ask you to stay here forever and while away your hours with an invalid and his caretaker. You are still young, you require action and life. This is all I can give you now."

"Sir, it is more than enough. Far more than I deserve." I notice he tries to hide his boyish excitement.

"You may be happy. You don't have to hide your joy from me, my son." I drop the title kindly, giving him a smile. "I shall send for the foreman and inform he is allowed to leave, I have found his replacement."

His eyes are grinning.

"Sir, may I study the blueprints? So I may know what is expected of me? I hadn't thought yet to study them but I shall need to know them backwards and forwards. I shall need the employee lists, and to see the site. Study it as well." He rattles away, pacing back and forth and talking to himself. He is reanimated, his passion for his art growing in him. I wonder how he suffered without a chisel and mallet in his hands for so long.

"In my study. You may stay there and look them over." I answer him indulgently, as one would an excited child. His excitement is infectious though and, by the time he rushes from the room, I am smiling and happy as well, feeling youthful again.

.

.

 _Erik_

.

I notice nothing as I nearly run towards his study where the blueprints wait for me. I wanted to stay with him, for our relationship to be as it was before I left. But, I have felt idle, restless. I wanted work, I wanted to ask him for work but it seemed too presumptuous to ask it of him.

It was always possible he didn't want me back to work for him.

I was no longer his apprentice but now, he wants me to control everything under him! If it were any other man, I would be offended at the lower position but, I do not care when he is my boss. I would never dream of asking for anything more than he is willing to give me.

I reach the study and quickly lay my hands on the blueprints, spreading them out on his neat desk and immersing myself into the lines and calculations.

Only to be jerked from my contemplation by an excited voice chattering something. I glance up and see Christabella looking at me as if I hung the world for her enjoyment alone.

"What?" I ask.

"You're going to stay? Signor told me that he gave you the foremanship position." Her dark eyes are bright and happy. I have no idea why she would be.

"Yes. I have no reason to leave now." I reply shortly, frustrated with her for interrupting me but I cannot be harsh with her. She has been kind to me, always smiling at me whenever she sees me.

"I'm so happy. I was afraid…" She trails off and blushes prettily. "I was so afraid that you would get bored with us and leave. I'm sorry for bothering you. Giovanni wants me to go fetch the foreman to tell him the good news." She grins brightly and leaves the study as quickly as she came.

I brush her existence from my mind and bury myself into the blueprints.

.

.

 _Giovanni_

.

Erik resurfaces many hours later, his joy now at a calm simmer but nevertheless still inside him, despite that I sense a certain thoughtfulness filling him. But, Christabella doesn't notice and seems happier, lighter on her feet while she serves us and herself.

When she finally leaves, declaring the dishes must be done and that we have no doubt have business to talk about, I give Erik an encouraging smile and ask,

"How did you like the blueprints? Satisfactory?"

"They were good but there are several places for improvements. I shall look into the site and see what can be done." After he finishes his statement, he adds quickly, "If you do not mind."

"Not all. I would like for you to look at them. You are a genius, my son, a genius among geniuses. Your critique would be appreciated." He plays around with his napkin, twisting it about before speaking,

"Why do you call me that?"

"Call you what?" I ask, though I know what he speaks of.

"'My son.' You've called me that many times since my arrival. Why?" He dares to look me in the eye.

"Because you are that to me. You always were. I never had a son of my own but I wanted one and, God provided me with someone's unwanted child for me to care for. I thank him for that."

"You don't hate him for not providing you with a perfect child?" He replies, his voice ever so quiet but I catch the words and the meaning behind them. Ah, I see the reason behind his question. I wondered when he would bring up the topic or if it would just sit between us.

"No. I never did. A father loves unconditionally. Your appearance didn't change my love for you. It still doesn't. I love you, my son." His hands move, shaking, to his mask and rest against the sides of his face.

"Thank you, sir." He is still uncomfortable and thoughtful.

"Is there something else bothering you?" I ask, leaning forward and watching him, waiting for him to speak.

.

.

 _Erik_

.

"Forgive me if I am out of line but, sir, you…" I hesitate. How do I speak what is on my mind? "You are the only father I've…ever had. I…I love you, sir." My voice is choked. Does his affection only last as long as I keep silent? Perhaps it is an irrational fear but it is mine.

"Father." He says and I look at him curiously. "No more of this 'sir' business. Call me 'Father.'"

I hesitate. He is extending the greatest of honors to me. To be called his son is one thing but to call him "father" is another entirely. I manage to hold my emotions together and keep most of them from my voice except for my complete gratefulness.

"Thank you…Father."

.

.

 _Giovanni_

.

I am an old man now. Quite old. My eight-five years are ancient for those of my craft. My chest still rattles a little though Erik's potions have worked miracles on my lungs. They may give me another five years at the most.

So, here I sit, on the balcony of my house, the balcony Erik fixed last month, ancient but not alone, content in the present, instead of living in the past.

My son has done so well for himself. Almost all the work of the business is his now. I am weakening almost by the day so more and more is passed to him as I cannot perform it anymore. His work is turning into his life though, I suspect Christabella might want more than just a passing acquaintance.

I really should speak to him about her.

She is still young and pretty and he deserves such a loving mate.

Our relationship has completely healed. A year after he first called me "father," he showed me his face, terrified of revealing it to me for fear that I would reject him. He is hideous, I won't lie but I still love him. He is my son, deformed or not.

He usually goes about without his mask around the house now. Christabella convinced him she doesn't mind after multiple attempts.

The girl is a treasure, he really should notice her.

I occasionally think of Luciana still, but not as often as I thought I would. She is still my favorite daughter and I still love her dearly but her memory has been softened, her death not as painful. Time does help heal all wounds.

A sound draws my attention and two shapes step onto the balcony; one my son and the other Christabella, both fetching me for supper. I hold out my hands and Christabella takes my left and Erik my right. I give them both a smile as they help me from my seat and into the house.

My wandering son has come home.


End file.
